Blue and Gold
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: A conversation between Isobel and Mary set during series 2  possible spoilers  that turns out to be surprisingly frank. Contains M/M and Isobel-shipping.


**I have never really written Matthew/Mary before, so this fic has quite outstanding potential to be terrible, both in characterisation and events in general. The appearance of Isobel may redeem it somewhat- but I'm used to a far more comic Isobel than this, so again, be warned. Please try to stick with it, though, I would be very grateful. Set in series two, probably with some spoilers and some speculation. Also, I'm usually very, very wary about song fics, but this song seemed to fit so well. **

**There's slight Isobel-shipping in this too; specifically my "Isobel theory".**

_**Blue and Gold**_**, by Linda Thompson**

_Blue and gold, young and old_

_Beautiful or plain._

_The fortunes of war are a broken heart_

_On a golden chain._

_Pity the woman who marries for love_

_Her heart will never be free,_

_And pity the woman who marries for land_

_For she'll unhappy be._

_Through the long lonely nights_

_I call your name._

_Sleeping and waking _

_For me are just the same._

_Everything I have, _

_I would gladly give for thee, for thee. _

"Mary?"

Mary looks up from the teacup on her knee. The sound of Cousin Isobel's voice wakes her from something of a reverie. She has those increasingly often these days. Her cousin is watching her, not quite intently, but closely. Though she has no wish to be scrutinised, she realises that by coming here she was probably asking for it.

"Why are you here, Mary?" 

Her head snaps back up. Her immediate reaction is to look for Molesley and ask him for more tea or some cake and create some small distraction- enough to make the woman forget what she just asked. But Molesley is nowhere to be seen and now she looks as if she's looking for an escape route. Perhaps she is. It would help if she knew herself why she'd come to see Cousin Isobel, except that she had wanted to, for some unclear reason. She feels herself clear her throat a little.

"I wanted to see how you are," it's not altogether untrue, "After, after what happened. We are family, after all."

The little laugh she adds to this last is unconvincing and too high. Her cheeks glow a little, and she mentally scolds herself. It's not altogether inconceivable that what she's said could be the whole truth, but she's ruined it with an attempt at bravado. Is it beyond the stretches of the imagination that she might want to comfort his mother after what happened? Oh, she knows it was nowhere near as bad as it could have been- for which she will be forever grateful- but still, he was injured badly enough to be brought back to England. Badly enough to shake her. Not quite badly enough to be brought back here, though. The main thing is that she knows she hasn't convinced Cousin Isobel for a moment that she came here with the intention of only giving sympathies.

"Edith and Sybil too busy, were they?" the older woman asks politely, just managing to avoid it sounding strained.

Mary looks down at her knees again. It's true; if she was here to enquire purely as a relative, she'd have brought one of them with her, or her mother.

"How _is_ he?" she asks, emphasising the question in a way she didn't before, "His letters to Papa are always so formal, so impersonal. I must know, Cousin Isobel."

Her cousin looks at her unblinkingly for a long moment.

"I must know."

She repeats it more firmly, in something that feels a little bit like panic. She'd have never thought that this woman could possibly be as unnerving as her grandmother. Where Granny is sharp and biting, Cousin Isobel has this silent, humble conviction of her own virtue that can go unnoticed in comparison but hits you in the face when you're left alone with it. And for a moment, Mary expects that when she opens her mouth, she's in for a scolding.

"Yes, I do believe you must."

She sets her teacup down on the table before her and returns to sit up straight again. Mary gets the feeling that she's still not altogether comfortable talking to her like this.

"He's finding it very difficult, I think. Of course, he'll never say so directly; he won't want me to get upset. Quite frankly, I'd be rather more upset if he found it easy to cope with it. I'm not sure that any right-thinking person finds war easy."

"Are you going to go and see him?" Mary asks.

"I hope so. If I can find a way to keep things running smoothly at the hospital without me there for a few days."

"Has-...?"

Though Mary thinks better of what she was going to ask, Cousin Isobel catches on. She's sharper than Mary's ever given her credit for.

"Yes. Lavinia has been to see him."

There is an uncomfortable pause.

"She is his fiancée, after all," Cousin Isobel reminds her, not pointedly, but she reminds her nevertheless. 

Mary can feel herself bristling, but she makes an effort to keep her voice polite, determined not to give Mrs Crawley any more ammunition.

"I know I hurt Matthew," her voice wavers a little, though she won't acknowledge it for all the world, "And I have no excuse other than that I was very foolish."

She ought to have something to say after that, but what? That she still cares for him? Too bland. That he'll never be just another distant cousin? Cousin Isobel waits a few seconds, in case she wants to add any more.

"I know you did," she replies, a little sharply, "I know that perhaps better than you do. But," she inhales a little, "I know by now that it was never your intention."

It's now Cousin Isobel who seems to be considering adding something. And she does.

"I know you were very upset by it all, too. I know," she admits, "I was never exactly sympathetic, when I really ought to have been. I was concerned for my son."

No matter what she had been expecting from Cousin Isobel, it was not anything approaching an apology. It threw her a little bit to see hints of sympathy in her cousin's eyes. She'd seen her look at Edith that way before, but not her. In fact, it rather felt as if she was being scrutinised again. It was rather as if she was considering saying something but wasn't quite sure if she ought to.

"Lavinia wrote to tell me that she found him in much better spirits than she thought she would," Isobel informed her levelly.

Mary considered the statement for a moment. She couldn't honestly care what Lavinia had written, but then...

"It rather contradicted the impression I got from him," Cousin Isobel spoke what had just been forming in Mary's mind. She was looking at her rather pointedly.

In her head it resounded: Matthew had never been anything but honest with her, once he had asked her to marry him; never pretended that things were fine when they weren't. It was something, at any rate. Cousin Isobel was watching her again.

"No doubt he doesn't want to upset her," Mary filled in for her.

Isobel blinked. Then shook her head.

"He'd protect his foolish old mother from it," she conceded, "He wouldn't do so with a woman he seriously intended to take as his wife. He wouldn't want to feel as if he was patronising her."

Mary's breath hitched. She hoped Cousin Isobel didn't hear, but suspected that she had. The older woman was frowning a little.

"My husband," she continued slowly, at length, "Died when he was still quite young, Mary. Not as young as some, mind you, but too young to die by a long way," she looked up at Mary, her gaze clearer than she'd ever seen it. Mary had never really heard her talk about her husband before, "What I wouldn't have given for five more years with him."

There was a pause. Mary, ashamed as she was to admit it, could not quite think of what to say to that.

"You still have a chance, Mary," she told her softly, "Matthew's alive."

This time, when Mary laughed, it was not high but low, dull and hollow.

"And I suppose the fact that he's engaged to Lavinia is of little consequence?" she asked, rather incredulous, she could not quite believe what her virtuous old cousin was implying, "Cousin Isobel, of all things, I wouldn't have thought you'd want me turning his life upside down again!"

"I'm not thinking of Matthew," was the reply, "I'm thinking of you." 

It was fair to say that it surprised her enough to silence her, again. Watching Cousin Isobel's expression, she desperately wanted the woman to elaborate, but sensed that she'd need to wait for her to offer her explanation as opposed to asking for it. All she could read in her cousin's face was a great difficulty. When she spoke again it was quietly.

"After Reginald died," she continued slowly, "After he..." she looked up at Mary, her expression set in seriousness, "I don't believe you're here to monger gossip Mary."

Too stunned to do anything else, Mary shook her head.

"After Reginald died, I had, I had something of an affair," she admitted falteringly, "I know," she caught the expression on Mary's face, "You'd never have believed it of me, but it's true. No, Matthew doesn't know and nor will he. I lost the man I loved and I reached out to the only person who I thought would let me, who I thought might understand. And I hurt us both more than we were when it started out."

Mary waited, unable to process what had been said. She'd have believed it of anyone other than Cousin Isobel, but at the same time did not doubt that the woman was being truthful for a second.

"I am telling you this not to shock you," she continued, "Or to make you see me in a different light. I'm telling you so that you know that I know from personal experience what can happen to a person when they can't have someone they love. They can hurt lots of other people too. You and Matthew can still have each other, I think, given time." 

"Do you think he'll ever consider me again?" she dared to voice the thoughts that had been forming in her mind all this while- for longer if she was honest. She saw the corners of Cousin Isobel's mouth twitch slightly.

"I don't think I'd have encouraged you at all if I didn't think there was some hope."

**End.**

**I hope you liked it. Please review if you have the time. **


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